He's Perfect, Isn't He?
by Percentile
Summary: Stan keeps on asking Kenny one very irritating question.


"He's perfect, isn't he?" Stan murmured, his chin cupped in his hands, his elbows resting on his legs. He was watching Kyle debate Token Black on some tediously dull clerical issue, standing behind a music stand that was serving as a makeshift podium. Eric Cartman had stolen all the podiums for one of his plans; he intended to use them as firewood, firewood that would really help that synagogue burn. It was part way though the deliberation and Kyle was getting into the swing of things, waving his arms about in an overly theoretical way that Token found very off-putting, and a little bit terrifying.

Kenny shuddered. He hated it when Stan asked that question. The first time Stan had asked Kenny this had been during one of Kyle's basketball matches (which Kenny only went to because there was nothing funnier then watching a pintsize, stocky little Jew play basketball), Kenny had replied, quite truthfully, that Kyle's wasn't his type. He was too short, too fluffy, too thick in the hips for Kenny's personal preference. He liked them tall and dark, strong and sleek. Like a designer cup of coffee.

Stan had nodded serenely whilst Kenny had been speaking, not taking his eyes off Kyle. Once Kenny had finished, Stan had stood up, balled his fist, and broken Kenny's nose, before sitting back down to watch Kyle hit the net from the three point line.

The second time Stan had asked Kenny that question they were watching Kyle deliver a book report, and Kenny decided that he quite liked not having a broken nose, and so had forced himself to answer, _quite earnestly_, that he thought Kyle was one of the finest men ever to traverse this great planet, and that he believed Kyle's ass should be framed and revered as the greatest of all great worldly wonders.

Stan had nodded quite serenely whilst Kenny had been speaking, not taking his eyes off Kyle. Once Kenny had finished, Stan had stood up, grabbed him by the front of his shirt, slammed him against a wall, and resolutely informed Kenny that Kyle was his, and his alone, and if Kenny ever looked at Kyle _that _way again, it would be the last thing he ever did. With that, Stan had kneed him in the crotch so hard Kenny had seen God again. Then Stan had sat back down, smiled, and made a little go-on gesture at a stunned Kyle, urging him to continue reading his report.

By the third time Stan asked that question, Kenny was beginning to wonder if Stan's memory was beginning to suffer from all those knocks to the head he'd received on the football pitch. Either that or Stan was secretly a sadist who would use this question as an excuse to punch Kenny any time he felt like it until the day he died, and didn't come back. No matter what Kenny answered, yes or no, embellished or bare, he seemed to get it wrong.

The eighth time saw Kenny loose his temper. They were watching Kyle skim rocks across Stark's Pond, Stan had asked Kenny to confirm Kyle's perfection, and Kenny had hissed back that Kyle wasn't perfect, that he wasn't a little ray of auburn sunlight alighting a bleak, grimy world, but he was instead a short, irritating son of a bitch with a piss poor Napoleon complex and a temper that could shame a rabid dog. Kenny had gone on to proclaim that Stan should probably ram his pathetic cock into Kyle's fat arse more often in an attempt to fuck the bitchy, judgemental, unwarranted self-importance right out of him.

Stan had nodded quite serenely whilst Kenny had ranted, not taking his eyes off Kyle. Once Kenny had finished, Stan had stood up, picked up the biggest branch he could find, and proceeded to beat Kenny to death with it. Because no-one calls his cock pathetic, and _no-one_ called Kyle's arse fat.

After that incident, Kenny kinda really prayed that Stan was suffering from short-term memory loss. The last thing Kenny wanted Stan to remember was how he'd insulted Kyle's rear so heinously. If he remembered that, he'd never let Kenny be best man at their wedding, and Kenny kinda wanted to be best man at their wedding. At the very least he wanted to feel included.

The eleventh time he was asked, Kenny realised Stan's memory was fine, the only thing he was suffering from was a bout of dickheaditis. He tried ignoring Stan, pretending Stan wasn't there, pretending he lived in a bubble, pretending the whole world except him was dead (he found the irony of that one quite delicious), but it didn't work. Stan was persistent.

After twenty minutes he gave in and bit back a lewd answer. He was rewarded with a bitchslap to the face, and another knee to the groin.

His seventeenth answer had been amazingly volatile. It had included shots at Stan's masculinity, Stan's mother, Kyle's mother, Kyle's weight, Kyle's nose, Kyle's face, Stan's sporting ability, Stan's cock size, Kyle's hair, Kyle's cock size, Stan's tendency towards massive pussyism, the sand in Kyle's vagina, as well as vulgar speculation about a lack of vitality in their love life must possess. Kenny remembered that death as one of the most painful he'd ever experienced. He also realised that not only would he defiantly not get to be best man now, but he probably wouldn't even get invited to their wedding.

The twenty-first time Stan turned to Kenny for confirmation on Kyle's perfection had occurred during one of Kyle's gay little speeches. Kenny had sighed, braced himself for a beating, before opening his mouth. He nearly shit a brick when Butter's spoke from Stan's other side.

"He-he is quite lovely, I must admit. You-you two make such a great couple, I'm-I'm so happy for you both."

Stan had nodded quite serenely whist Butters spoke, not taking his eyes off Kyle. When Butters finished, Stan had thanked him quietly, before standing up to vigorously applaud his boyfriend.

Kenny had stared at Stan with an open mouth, his hands itching to find something he could use it to pulverise him into wallpaper paste.

The twenty-second (and last) time Stan asked Kenny's opinion on Kyle's perfection had occurred during Kyle's debate with Token Black on some tediously dull clerical issue, a debate that saw both debaters forced to stand behind music stands as all the podiums in the school had mysteriously disappeared. Kenny sighed, bit his nail a bit more, and braced himself.

"He is quite lovely, I must admit. You two make such a great couple, I'm so happy for you both."

He recited it in a rhythmical, forced way, as though it was a pledge or a plea or something. Stan had nodded quite serenely whist Kenny spoke, not taking his eyes off Kyle.

"I hate the way you look at him when you think no one's looking, dude."

Kenny felt his heart quicken. This was new, Stan had replied with words, not violence. He still didn't like where this was going though, fear was beginning to grip him, the fear that maybe Stan _knew_.

"What do you mean? I have no idea what you're talking about." Kenny lied softly, pacing the words as though talking to a scared, small child or a vicious animal that might attack at any moment.

"The way you look at him, like he's amazing, and wonderful. Like he's perfect, and you just want to pin him against a wall or something. The way you look at him and think things only _I'm _allowed to."

Kenny just inhaled and sat back. Stan really was quite terrible at reading people sometimes.

There was a way Kenny looked at Kyle when he thought no-one was looking, a long, hard look he gave him when he thought he could get away with it. It was a look that was full of jealousy, a look full of anger, a look that asked 'Why _you_? Look at _you_! Pathetic _you_! What could he _possibly see in you_?'

There was also a look Kenny gave Stan when he knew no-one was looking. A long, hard look full of admiration and desire, a look full of love, and want, and heartbreak, a look that said 'You're amazing, you're wonderful. You're _perfect_, and I love you." No one, _no one_, had _ever_ seen this look.

Kenny sighed.

"You have nothing to worry about dude. You and Kyle are so in love with each other, so devoted to each other that nothing, not me, not Wendy, not anything could ever come between you. You are inseparable."

The words left a bitter, cyanide taste in his mouth and a heavy, lead weight in his chest. He hated those words, he hated them with a passion, a fury. He hated those words because he knew they were _true_.

Stan was Kyle's.

That was that.

Stan had nodded quite serenely whist Kenny had been speaking, not taking his eyes off Kyle.

"If I ever catch you looking at him in that way again, I will kill you. Do you understand?"

Kyle won the debate and smiled at Stan, causing Stan, tall dark strong sleek Stan to smile so much brighter then the sun, so much brighter then he ever had at Kenny.

Kenny felt the back of his eyes prickle with anger.

"I understand." He whispered.


End file.
